


Scene X

by purplesheep22, shunziqing



Category: Olympus Has Fallen (Movies)
Genre: A Chinese-English Translation, Alpha!Ben, M/M, Non-Traditional Alpha/Beta/Omega Dynamics, Omega!Mike, Power Bottom!Mike
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-07-29
Updated: 2016-07-29
Packaged: 2018-07-27 12:24:35
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,119
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7618024
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/purplesheep22/pseuds/purplesheep22, https://archiveofourown.org/users/shunziqing/pseuds/shunziqing
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A practical way.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Scene X

**Author's Note:**

  * A translation of [无名场景](https://archiveofourown.org/works/6684409) by [shunziqing](https://archiveofourown.org/users/shunziqing/pseuds/shunziqing). 



> Warning: Alpha!Ben and Power Bottom!Mike. Slight dub-con. 
> 
> Notes (Author):   
> Not really in for cheating. Since I've already had Mike as an Omega, might as well put them in this AU where he is single.   
> During the London escape. Let's not focus on the details. Please. 
> 
> Notes (Translator):   
> My first attempt! Please do tell me if anything feels funny.

 

It is after he downs the third glass of water that he realizes how bad it is. Mike puts the glass aside, and leans on his arms over the sink. He can feel himself slowly burning up, but cannot stop the shaking.

Fuck. He would really love to unleash some frustration and anger over the shitty furniture in the kitchen. Yet in reality, he takes out the dagger that he snatched from the terrorist in the train station, and cuts his exposed upper arm on the outside. Pain is good. Pain can help him focus. Pain can-

"Mike!" Someone suddenly takes away the knife, and Mike tries damn hard not to slip and stab his President. "What the hell are you doing?" Ben covers a hand towel over the cut, without a clue.

For safety reasons, Mike puts the blade away before replying, "I'm fucking trying to focus, Sir," Ben's smell is tempting, a mixture of flame and sands. "There's hormone inducer in their smoke grenade."

"Are you-"

"No, everyone in the service is on suppressant. Regular intake, standard procedure. But this is really some distraction," Mike frowns annoyingly, turning aside and unintentionally squeezing into Ben's personal space. He wants to set his teeth on that patch of skin below the ear. He wants to take in his smell, and stain him with his, "I need to be one hundred percent focused, or else neither of us can make it back."

"But surely," Ben smells hesitant, and full of concern, "there must be some other ways besides hurting yourself."

That makes them both stop, nose to nose. Mike tilts his head.

Ben dropped his hand as if getting burnt, "That's not what I'm implying!"

"Actually," Mike said, "it's a good idea."

He does not bother waiting for the "Wait, what," from the confusing President, but drags him directly into the other room.

 

*

 

Argument is a waste of time, and time is a luxury that they do not have. Mike kisses Ben right when he closes the door.

It is an aggressive kiss, laced with sweetness, luring Ben to open his mouth. Mike knows that Ben wants him. He can smell it. But just as he is about to tear off Ben's belt, his hands are stopped.

"Wait wait, hold on. Wooh, Mike," Ben breaks off from the kiss, panting, "I don't think this is a good idea. You are high on drugs. This is obviously not the most sober decision-"

The President's pacifying and distrustful tone fuels his anger. Mike straightens up, making use of the two-inch advantage in height to loom over him. "Sir, how about this: we are in a war, out in the field, you have to listen to me. Plus, I don't intend to die, and certainly don't intend to let you die on my watch. Is that sober enough?"

"... Mike, are you ordering me to fuck you?"

"Positive," Mike pushes Ben down on the sofa, then climbs onto his lap, "now shut up and do it."

"MI6 is right outside!" Ben's voice is getting sharper.

"Then you'd better not make too much noise," Mike covers Ben's mouth teasingly. They are close, so close that Mike can clearly see Ben's dilated pupils in the darkness, feel his quickened breath, and the hand tightening on his upper arm. "Ben," he lets his voice soften, treating it as a request.

Ben exhales slowly, and relaxes his grip. "Try to be gentle," he says, "I'm not that young anymore."

Mike cracks a smile, "I shall try my best, Sir."

 

*

 

The truth is that Mike fucks like the way he kills— brutally and efficiently. Probably not the most appropriate analogy when he has still got bloodstains on his shirt, but it is the very truth.

Ben somehow still has all of his clothes on, except for the undone zipper. Mike's naked legs are at his sides, and all his warm skin under Ben’s palms. He smells like hard liquor in his heat.

If Ben can be completely honest with himself, this is all expected, but none imaginable:

Mike, in his attempt to prevent the sofa from creaking too loud, rocking slowly on top of him; his inside tight and warm, driving him to his end; when Ben holds him at the hips, but unable to push up as Mike's entire body weight rests on him; when Mike clings tightly around him with no warning whatsoever, forcing out a high-pitched moan from Ben, but muffled by Mike's hand; their noses touching, warm breaths lingering in between; Mike's cock rubbing against his abs, pre-come leaking, smearing across the skin.

Soon, but it feels like a long time, Mike gets faster and more urgent, his movement smaller and more precise.

Ben tries to sit straight, but gets pushed back down. His head of security supports himself on the elbow, face aside and neck exposed.

"Come on, Ben," Mike says to his ear, "bite me."

Like a punch to the gut. Ben extends his arms to loop around the surprisingly lean waist, and bites at the right position below Mike's ear.

Looking back, Ben might say that he saw a "white light", but at the moment, he is totally boneless for three seconds. Objectively, he should be able to feel their scents mixing. There is a puddle of semen slowly drying on his abdomen, but all his attention is on the person above him.

Mike has always been prepared, ready to attack at any moment, like the taut string on a pull bow, or a predator during his hunt. In the many years that Ben has known his old pal, he has never seen him so relaxed and tamed.

He thinks that he will probably miss this.

Those three seconds feels like an eternity, yet still another fleeting moment. At the snap of a finger, everything returns to normal, like the end of a charm.

Mike gets up, wiping them both clean with tissue paper out of nowhere, and even helps tuck Ben's member in. Before pulling his own trousers back up, Mike grabs his gun first, apparently unable to stand leaving it behind for long. He then buries his nose into the crook of Ben's neck, breathing in.

Oh right, temporary bonding.

“Good,” Mike has such a deep voice, just short of a contented purr, “now it's my instinct to kill anyone who dares to touch you.”

“Wait,” Ben manages to overcome the chills creeping up his spine, “I think we should talk.”

Mike rolls his eyes, not even trying to hide it, “No offense, Sir, but if we manage to get out of this with all our limbs attached, you can talk whatever you want.”

Ben grins, “That's a deal.”

 

 

End


End file.
